I have too many things to do at the moment.

Like, seriously, I need to slow the fuck down.

But yet, I continue to write.

I can't make any promises about when the next updates will be for BA, but I can promise to you that it will be finished before March, or in the beginning of March. It just seems like spending months on one measly five-shot where there's two people planning it out is too much time for no more than 4000 words per chapter.

So yeah, March, two more updates, then it's done.

More story news in bottom A/N.

Was it normal to get back after spending a night with the most charming boy ever and wanting to throw up?

Cosette pursed her lips thoughtfully, leaning against her side's window in the backseat of her parent's car quietly. Anger still rolled off them in wave, albeit more mildly ever since so many people came up to them with comments on wonderful the night had been.

She wasn't all to blame either, considering there was a small panic when they ran out of crab cakes and the one to hover over the food the most had been Johnathan, shoveling them in his mouth and the pockets of his tux only to have tiny crab cake bits fall out while he twirled Elizabeth around on the dance floor, leaving his own food trail all around the ballroom.

(An image that still, hours later, brought shudders of disgusts.)

If she wasn't so out of it, she would have been driving herself up the wall with thinking about what kind of punishments she might get her temporary disappearing act on her special night, but she had figured that her father bursting into tears during the shoe ceremony would soften it.

Telling them about Prince could also lessen the blow, but her time spent with him felt too sacred for her family to know about yet.

Cosette watched the street lights pass in a blur as the car sped down the road, her parents voices a background of garbled static.

It foolish to ever think that meeting a cute guy at a masquerade party could be accounted for as love at first sight - partially for the obvious reason of not getting a proper look at him, his mask and the dim moonlight of the hotel garden doing a good job of hiding his face in the shadows of the night. But the idea of having this small moment, a promise of meeting again, was so exciting and heart-pounding that her giddy behavior on such a silly thing as meeting her true love was all but lost.

When they pulled into their driveway, Cosette hurried inside, yanking on the skirt of her dress to keep from tripping over it in her ghastly heels and, god forbid, tearing it.

Faintly she heard her mother's voice call out to her, a promise of discussing her disappearance in the morning, but Cosette was too busy tearing through her floating daze enough to not fall down the stairs and bust her head open. The last thing she needed was a split head on the night of her Quinceneara.

March 2nd, 2026

After making a bargain for a one week grounding for her little disappearance at the party with her parents, Cosette sat on her bed, TV and Internet-less, still feeling unruly with giddiness.

Was it normal for "women" to feel this strongly for some masked, sexy-voiced stranger?

It seemed like that one cheesy hour-long episode of a sitcom that taught you how outer beauty didn't compare to a person's inner qualities like common interests, beliefs, dreams, blah blah blah.

Cosette suddenly perked up, smiling as she looked mischievously at her desk.

Her parents couldn't ground her from writing...

Sliding into the cushy leather seat of her desk chair, Cosette grabbed one of her neater spare notebooks, flipping it open to a fresh page then snatching her lucky blue pen from the supply holder she made at summer camp in the fifth grade. (The occasional glitter-coated macaroni still fell from the rim, but beggars can't be choosers.)

Cosette had never been much of writer - no one in her family was, really. Her parents did all of their work business by email or blue tooth, using Post-Its as their maximum of non-technological use in a day. Her brother had a dream for going into the animation business, claiming to either be one of the geniuses behind a Disney film or the visionary of a video game design.

She herself hadn't done much except for the typical diaries a girl in elementary school would keep, only half-full but still the most precious thing in the world until fifth grade. Her dream of traveling the world could be another journalism opportunity, if she had a functional bone in her body when it came to descriptions; she always imagined it being just her, her car, a camera, and the occasional road map from a rest stop.

That didn't leave much room for writing down her adventures in detailed novels.

But now, staring down at the blank lines of her fresh notebook paper, Cosette wished for some writing background other than her English class. Knowing the elements of a haiku or how to properly track her reading wouldn't come in handy in this case.

Besides, what do you say to the crush you only knew for one night?

One amazing, breathtaking night that she wouldn't give up for anything, but still a night, nonetheless.

How do you start a letter to a secret prince charming, way? Dear seemed to formal, a typical greeting she would put in a text felt too insignificant, and a hello with a cheesy rip-off inked emoticon just seemed stupid.

Leaning her head back, Cosette let out a mangled groan, releasing her frustrations into the air with one throaty sound.

Why did spilling her heart onto to paper seem so hard?

Really, how do authors do it?

When nightfall came, Eric felt hopeless.

While he was no Shakespeare, it didn't seem too hard to write a measly letter to a pretty girl he spent one night under the stars with.

Letting out a strangled groan, he fell back against the couch, feeling his capped pen rolled underneath him, piercing his back awkwardly.

Eric muttered a curse, pulling it from underneath him and glaring at it fiercely. "Screw you, stupid piece of crap!"

He promptly flung the pen over the back of couch, hearing it land with a tiny tink against the floor.

Although he remained wordless after a handful of hours taken out of a perfectly nice Sunday, he hand at least a dozen finely detailed pictures of Cosette, carefully done with the determined stroke of his colored pencils, and the occasional outline of his dark markers for emphasis.

(Like her fine cheekbones, rising eyebrows, the soft oval shape of her eyes...oh god...)

Eric sat up after taking a couple moments to build up his will and not fling his notepad against the nearest wall, but choose to heavily glare at it, hoping that he could at least manage to burn some smoking holes into the surface of the pages. He did not.

Would it be too weird if he just folded up one of his many pictures of her and just sticky noted some lame ass excuse for him being horrible with words?

Oh, yeah. Definitely too weird.

If only he had inherited his father's way with words, Eric mused, rubbing his chin as he went into the kitchen, looking to drown out his failure with food. Maybe if he had experience with song lyrics and getting songs that earn platinum records, he could at least write a cheesy, but somehow swoon-worthy poem that girls in lame chick flicks seem to love.

Then again, those undependable bastards also make a guy think girls would kill for an artist type, yet he remains pathetically inexperienced.

Sticking a left over slice of pizza into his mouth, Eric hopped up onto the counter, hating everything.

Why did it have to be letters? Couldn't they have set up something risky, like private email accounts or a dinky abandoned location where they can do the cheesiest shit and meet each other for real and wish to have passionate make-out sessions in the back alley? Aren't girls supposed to want that kind of thing?

Would it be wrong for him to admit that he kind of wanted that kind of thing?

Oh, yeah, totally just wrong.

Three cold slices of pizza later, Eric was back to his hopeless position on the couch, mourning over his blown chances with such a hot girl.

There was no way that she would get into him when his writing was crap.

He wasn't especially good with words on a speaking basis, either.

He was in hell.

Deep, deep, hell.

March 3rd, 2026

It was Monday. She should be fast asleep, blissfully unaware to how close it was to when she had to drag her lazy butt out of bed and prepare for another day in the nuclear battlefield that was high school.

But, no. Cosette didn't give herself that kind of pleasure. Instead, she had gotten up two hours before her alarm, was freshly dressed and ready for the day, breakfast already eaten, and her letter still painfully unsuccessful, although she had managed a solid two paragraphs before deeming herself a failure and rotting in her own self-pity as she fell asleep.

So, instead of suffering alone, she did the next best thing.

"What the hell do you want?" Elizabeth growled into the phone, seething enough to cause a static in the receiver.

"Gee, good morning to you, too," Cosette countered with an eye roll.

"It's the middle of the night!"

Cosette gave a spare glace at her clock. "Dude, it six twenty-eight in the morning. Your alarm was going to wake you up in two minutes anyway!"

"And I could've used those precious two minutes to save a life! Now we'll never know thanks to whatever wake up call service you're running!"

"Whenever you're done," Cosette said with a heavy sigh of annoyance.

"Fiiinne, what's the sitch?"

Cosette sucked in a deep breath, staring at her mess of a letter. "I think there's a boy."

A pause.

"Ach, that it?"

"Please, don't cry for me," Cosette spat back sarcastically, spinning in her chair.

"Dude, the solution is simple: grow a pair and get pumped. Stuff your bra, listen to some Miley Cyrus shit, start praying to the sex gods. Can I get back to bed now?"

Cosette spared another backwards glance to her clock. "Three, two..."

Just before she can mouth the final number of her countdown, Cosette made out a faint beep of Elizabeth's alarm clock.

"Dammit!"

Cosette pulled her phone away from her ear, laughing so hard she fell off the seat of her desk chair.

With two hours more time to get ready than usual, Cosette took Elizabeth's advice, no matter how much of an excuse it had been to go back to sleep, and ditched her original outfit for something a little more eye-catching.

Shedding herself of her typical skinny jeans and band tee, Cosette wiggled into a pair of black tights with white polka-dots and dug out a blue dress that her Aunt Rachel had been wanting to see her in since forever. Deciding not to freeze to death, she threw out her favorite grey suede booties and brown leather jacket.

After a final swipe of her favorite lip gloss, she was ready.

Huh, this feeling must be why make-up was referred to as war paint; she felt ready for a battle.

The first one to notice on her new confidence was her father, peering at her skeptically over the top of his morning stack of lab reports.

"What is on your face?" he exclaimed, looking just mildly horrified.

To hide her smile, Cosette grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and bit into it. (It was also for the sake of eating something in front of her parents so she could avoid explaining to them why she was up at five in morning eating Frosted Flakes, but it would also help them worry about her becoming an anorexic over a grounding.)

At her husband's rather brash statement, Christine looked up, then simply laughed. "Chase, she's a woman now! Plenty of woman wear make-up."

"Yeah, the ones who study at clown college," Jonathan snickered into his cereal.

At the very idea of such a disgraceful place of education, Chase looked prepared to faint.

"I just decided to dress it up a little for a change," Cosette mumbled around a bite of apple, chasing down a huge swallow with a swig of orange juice. "No big deal."

"It is when it includes all...that!" her father persisted, gesturing wildly at his daughter's face.

The mother and daughter pair shared a prompt eye roll.

All arguments on her choice of dress and the addition of make-up were lost fine minutes later when her mother declared that if they didn't drop this ridiculously time-consuming debate, they were going to be late.

If anything scared her father more than the thought of her becoming somewhat of a lady. it was not having a stelluar, if not flawless, puncutal record.

Thirty seconds after walking through the front enterance and Cosette felt like a total idiot. She watched in despair as Johnathan immediately spotted a group of guys in stained cargo shorts that Cosette could instantly place as his skater buddies.

Although she could spot Elizabeth's bobbing blonde head as she leaned against her locker, no doubt rocking out to whatever playlist she spent five minutes making over a Pop Tart, Cosette couldn't shake the feeling of starting the day out as a total idiot.

She was looking for a guy she didn't even properly have framed in her head; the only crystal clear underneath the moonlight that night being the incredbly sharpness of his glittery eyes, deep even you could drown in them.

Not to mention her school was the worst place to pick up a relationship, let alone do some guy-hunting. If Principal Perry caught you, you could kiss any sense of stealth and dignity good-bye.

For a sixty-year-old bat that had cat food falling from the pocket of her pantsuits, she sure knew how to make a living off the misery of the future generation.

Yet, Cosette couldn't help feeling that if she waited a little longer, stood on her tiptoes just a little higher...

"Aghhch!"

They were both on the ground in seconds. Cosette blinked, taking a moment to stare blankly at the ceiling before the situation set in - the papers flying around her, in the throes of their flight, the echoing crash of books and bags falling to the ground.

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

She took another slow blink at the long fingers that come into view offering themselves to her along with another rushed apology.

"I swear, I didn't see you around the corner or I swear to God that I wouldn't have plowed you over like a semi, swear."

"That's a lot of swearing for just one sentence," Cosette commented drily, accepting the hand and resisitng a squeak of surprise at how smoothly she was lifted to her feet.

Oh, look. Bus Boy was standing right in front of her, looking up from his long hands wrapped around her petite ones.

Hands were so weird, always so fascinating; how they interlocked, compared and constrated with each other, came skinny or stubby, long or short.

There was a hitch of breath, and for a moment Cosette thought of it as her own until she looked up and found Bus Boy's lips pursed into a tight line, the color draining from them at the pressure.

His cheeks held a faint blush, dropping his hand and returning to his side while he ducked his head shyly.

Cosette's mouth quirked to the side; she'd never seen a boy act so shy before. But, to be fair, her only experience with boys were Johnathan, her moronically fear-lacking brother, and Prince, her confident mystery date the night of her big party.

"Oh, I think you dropped this," she said after going to walk away, only to have her foot bump into an abandoned notebook. It's cover was stained with clever paint splatters.

Pretty, she had time to think before handing it over.

Bus Boy's blush deepened, gently putting it back in his possession. After quickly shoving it into his backpack, he gave a quick wave and muttered a shallow, "bye," under his breath before running off.

Cosette furrowed her brows before shrugging, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder before hurrying off to catch Elizabeth before homeroom.

Boys were so weird.

Eric was flipping out. After an entire night and half of his breakfast time spent working on his letter, he only had three paragraphs written, which were nothing more than word vomit written in his horrible chicken scratch.

Then, he just had to walk into school and bump into her, without her even realizing he was this so-called Prince character he made up on the fly.

God, were things with girls going to be this confusing forever?

I hope you enjoyed this third chapter of BA. I know that I keep you waiting forever, but I promise if I was less lazy and less swamped with school work and RL drama, I would totally update more.

Speaking of drama, holy shit! Was the season 3 premiere of Lab Rats amazing or what?

I just feel like such a traitor for saying this, but seeing the Lab Rats evil, especially Adam and Chase, was so hot. Literally, the best thing about the second part of Sink or Swim.

What was your favorite part about the first episode of season three? Other than the Triton App, I also loved Adam's ability to breathe underwater. Was that your favorite part too? And how do you feel about this Victor Crane guy?

Please tell me by dropping a review and also giving a comment on how you feel about this chapter.

Later, lovelies!